Buried, Not Forgotten
by Sam Worth
Summary: Tag to "Hogan, go home". Crittendon had no experience in talking to Klink, but he had something that Hogan didn't have - a shared experience of fighting in WWI. Written for the 100th Anniversary of Armistice Day challenge.
1. Hans Schultz

_A/N Written for the 100th Anniversary of Armistice Day challenge. Thank you Abracadebra for the challenge!_

 _The story is finished and has three parts. Posting schedule is a chapter a day until complete._

 _In "Hogan, go home" Crittendon set out to talk Klink into transferring Colonel Hogan and ended with having him locked up in the cooler. In the following conversation between Hogan (working on his transfer) and Klink, the commandant said two strange things: he did it as a personal favor for Crittendon and that he did it to keep Hogan from committing suicide. Every time, the show added something to play down his words. But what if he had actually meant it like he had said it?_

* * *

 **Buried, Not Forgotten**

* * *

 _One's past is what one is. It is the only way by which people should be judged. - Oscar Wilde_

* * *

 **Part 1: Schultz**

Crittendon strode to the commandant's office. In front of the porch, the sergeant of the guard had taken up position and blocked the door. Without pausing, the colonel went up to him. "Sergeant, I need to talk to the commandant."

The big man shook his head and remained where he stood. "The commandant does not wish to be disturbed."

"I'm the senior officer of the prisoners," Crittendon said, raising his head. He pushed his chin forward and put as much authority as he could muster into his next words. "And I demand to speak to the commandant, right away."

"And I am the sergeant of the guards of the POW camp and say no."

Frowning, Crittendon tried to find some space to push around the big guard. But Schultz stood firmly in the way, without leaving enough room to circle around him. He sighed. "Fine. I didn't want to do this, but you have forced me." He took a deep breath. "Get out of my way, sergeant! That's an order!"

Schultz laughed out loud. "You, a prisoner wants to give me," he used his thumb to point to himself, "an order?" He laughed again. "Funny. You're a real comedian."

Irritated, Crittendon blinked and looked away. Frowning, he scratched his forehead "This always works. It was supposed to work." He pulled at his earlobe, the frown still etched on his face, trying to find a solution. "How does Colonel Hogan talk to the commandant then?" he asked himself aloud.

Sergeant Schultz relaxed again but kept a weary eye on the colonel. "That is easy. Colonel Hogan is not as shifty as you. Colonel Klink does not trust you." He put down his gun and placed his hand on his chest. "That is the reason, I stand here and guard the commandant."

Crittendon nodded. "Clever man this Colonel Klink." He turned away to go back to Hogan. He may need a few pointers in dealing with this sergeant as he had not anticipated such loyal protection.

A strong gust of cold wind blew in his face, and he had to grab his cap. His scar ached again and reminded him of another time and another cold wind. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the sergeant also shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Quickly, he tried to estimate his age and an idea formed in his mind how to reach the commandant on his own after all. "Sergeant Schultz." He pivoted on his heel and stepped up to him again. "I need to speak to the commandant in an urgent matter that cannot be delayed."

"Everything is urgent for you. My hunger is also urgent, and yet I still stand here," Schultz grumbled.

"I assume based on your experience and age that you have served in the last war," Crittendon continued, ignoring the interjection. Sometimes, you had to overlook some things.

Schultz froze. It seemed to be the one thing he hadn't expected. His eyes shifted to Crittendon's uniform but there wasn't anything for him to see. He was, after all, a prisoner. The sergeant looked up and met his eyes. "Did you fight there, too?"

Solemnly, he nodded. "Only a man having fought in the trenches can understand what I need to tell the commandant."

Doubt crept on Schultz' face as he thought it over. "Colonel Klink is only interested in military information that forwards his career. But you can't have military information. Besides, what does this war have to do with the last one?" He tilted his head thinking it over. Then he narrowed his eyes, grabbed his gun again and used his best interrogation voice to ask, "what information do you have?"

"You will never know what I know. I am a trained commando, I have endured the hardest training withstanding torture and I have passed. You wouldn't get a single word out of me." Crittendon stated. Under his breath he added, "granted my scenario included the removal of the tongue and I wasn't allowed to say anything at all - the whole day we trained." He shook his head and faced the sergeant with a raised eyebrow. "Never mind, this is not about information, but about a soldier. Do you remember what happened with the men staying too long on the front lines?"

Schultz looked to the horizon. "I know what happened to the new, the old, the weary and the frightened. I wish I'd know nothing."

* * *

 _1914_

 _Hans Schultz stood proudly in line with his fellow class mates. They all had answered the call to defend their fatherland._

 _"I can't believe we're going off to war," Tom said in front of him. "This is going to be the greatest Christmas ever. We'll get the welcome of a hero and I'll tell my grandsons about the battles like my father told me about his."_

 _Hans laughed. "Can you image to be poor Albert?" His classmates joined his laughter._

 _"He said he didn't believe in war and that he wanted stay here. I bet his mother rued the day she had given birth to him." Tom made a face illustrating his statement. Even more laughter applauded his efforts to mock their only classmate who hadn't volunteered._

 _It was a light summer day and the whole city vibrated with excitement about the coming war. "He is going to miss the opportunity of a lifetime," Martin said._

 _As they marched out a few days later, Hans could feel the electrified air. His mother and girlfriend stood along the streets in their best dresses and waved their handkerchiefs. Even his father had come to send him off. He kept this memory deep in his heart. It felt good to be so valued and encouraged. With squared shoulders and a pristine new uniform, he marched forward backed by the loud cheering of his family, friends and town._

 _It remained his only good memory._

 _1916_

 _At first, he had cursed his luck to be selected to serve in the Imperial German Air Service and not in the front troops. But he had relented - he would serve wherever he was needed the most with honor and blood._

 _"Corporal Schultz," Lieutenant Kammler said in greeting. "How's my baby today?" He patted his Fokker Scourge with a loving expression on his face._

 _Hans looked up from his notepad and put down his pen. "Your plane is fine, sir, but the engine is stuttering a bit. I am waiting for the mechanics to take a look."_

 _"I'm sure it's nothing. But the Tommy over there needs to be reminded that we're still fighting."_

 _Hans sighed. Every pilot felt the need to remember the other side about their presence - usually with a burst of machine gun fire. Staying in range meant being in range._

 _"Did they add the new machine gun?" Lieutenant Kammler asked. The innovation and its superiority had already faded. They desperately needed new designs. But Kammler was young and eager, fresh out of training. He still believed that he could make the difference with just enough bravery._

 _"Yes. That change had started the stuttering."_

 _Lieutenant Kammler patted him on the shoulder. "Don't look so worried. I'm just going to take her for a short visit and some air reconnaissance. I'll be back before you know it."_

 _There wasn't anything left for him to do but wish him luck and helping him to prepare the machine. Two other Fokkers also were rolled to runway and the Gotha was being prepared for another bombing raid. Hans followed the planes with his eyes until he could only see a small spot in the cloudy sky._

 _He dragged his tired feet through the mud around the airstrip. Without stopping, he entered his barracks with his dirty boots. He just wanted to get off his feet. "Hans, be careful where you walk," his friend Herman warned him on his way out. "There's another inspection on its way."_

 _"Again?" he asked but didn't expect an answer. It just was as it was. Raising his hand in acknowledgment, he went back out and cleaned superficially his shoes. Then he hurried to the mess hall. First, he needed to eat something. An inspection usually took very long and hungry it seemed to take even longer. Then he had to polish his boots for real. If they came for an inspection they liked their troops looking sharp and eager to fight._

 _There were several new faces in the mess hall and Hans froze as he recognized one of the faces. "Tom?" Grinning, he rushed over and greeted him with a pat on his shoulder. "What are you doing here? Aren't you on the front lines given them beans?"_

 _Tom looked up. His hair was disheveled and his eyes sunken. His skin was sickly pale and his hand was shaking as he rubbed at his forehead. "I had to bring a message. Your major sent me here to eat something. I haven't eaten in a long time." Despite his words Tom sat in front of a full plate._

 _Hans sat down beside him. "Then why don't you eat? It isn't so bad. You should really eat as long as you can. You'll never know when the next opportunity comes along."_

 _Tom swallowed and glanced around the room as if he needed to check who was around. "It tastes like blood and brain," he whispered. "Everything tastes like blood and brain."_

 _"Isn't this what you set out to do out there?"_

 _Without any hesitation or humor, Tom nodded. "But it's our men that get blown to pieces. The blood and bone splinters get on your clothes, in your mouth and ears. It clings to your skin and you're almost happy if you're showered with earth as it reduces the smell."_

 _Hans froze, he had wanted to rib him for his bravery, but his friend just sat there sullen, like an empty shell. "Tom," he started but didn't know what to say. He had seen the face of their pilots after they had come back from a reconnaissance flight and how they had simply shaken their head at his question how it looked. But his friend sitting next to him seemed like a shadow of himself._

 _"Hans, they're all dead," Tom suddenly said, shattering the silence._

 _"What?"_

 _"Martin, Joseph, Heinrich, Herman." He listed them in a monotone voice. "They're all dead. Even Albert. They drafted him, they put him in a uniform and told him to get out of the trenches and fight the Tommy. He was so slow their bullets cut him literally into half before he was even completely out of the trench." Tom swallowed hard and turned to his soup. Suddenly he started to spoon it without pause, wolfing down the soup._

 _Hans sat beside him, quiet. He had mourned the opportunity to become a hero as he had been selected for the Imperial German Air Service. Only now he slowly realized what the trenches meant. "But it's worth it. They died defending Germany. We are winning. Every newspaper says this," he tried to console his friend._

 _"We're winning a few inches before they," Tom indicated with his chin to the general direction of the front line, "before they refine their artillery again and then -" he broke off, put down his spoon and pressed his hands against his ears as if he wanted to muffle the memories._

 _Hans looked over to his old classmate, lost for words. He just sat a few inches away, but they were separated by an invisible wall._

 _Suddenly, Tom jumped up. "I need to get back. Tell my mom that we fought courageously and -"_

 _"Yes?" Hans waited. He had known Tom's mother since they both had been little boys playing soldiers._

 _Tom opened his mouth. "Never mind. We're all going to die in this war." He looked up and pointed to the inspection general who has just arrived in the mess hall. "Good luck with your inspection, be careful not to get transferred. You have it good here."_

 _Hans watched him trotting off._

 _1918_

 _Having it good turned out to be a two-sided sword. He had yet to spend a day in the trenches but death hadn't forgotten about them._

 _As fast as new pilots arrived, they lost them. They put young boys in a plane and told them fly. But everything that's goes up, has to come down again._

 _"Sergeant, watch out!"_

 _Hans didn't recognize the voice, but he adhered to the warning and looked up. A plane out of control was coming down near him. Jumping aside the plane crashed a few feet away from him into the ground. Before he could rush over, the whole plane was engulfed in flames. The pilot was screaming but the flames were too hot, Hans couldn't get nearer._

 _More and more of the ground crew rushed over, but none of them could help. The pilot screamed and screamed until he finally was quiet. Only the fire and the advancing fire crew disturbed the hurtful and accusing silence._

 _Hans closed his eyes and turned his head away. Keeping his eyes tightly shut, he murmured his new motto. "I see nothing. I hear nothing. Nothing!" It had kept him sane the last terrifying months. He just wished that he also could stop to smell._

 _Suddenly Hans felt a presence beside him. His eyes snapped open, and he straightened, trying to project the image of a hardened airman. He glanced over his shoulder and recognized the face. "Lieutenant Kammler," he greeted the officer._

 _"Actual, it's captain now," Kammler pointed to his shoulder insignia, "but don't worry after you have saved my life you can call me for the rest of my life Lieutenant Kammler."_

 _Hans nodded his thanks. Using the offer, he dared to ask the one important question, "is it true, the emperor has abdicated?"_

 _Lieutenant Kammler was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Yes, it seems to be true."_

 _There wasn't anything to say. Hans couldn't express the fear that had grabbed him since he had first heard the rumors and Kammler couldn't offer him any hope. They had to carry on._

 _In the last few days, there hadn't been any real flights and it had a simple reason. "When do we get more fuel? The burning wreck was one of our last planes with fuel."_

 _"Not today," Captain Kammler said, "maybe tomorrow."_

 _"If they come now, we can't defend this base," Hans voiced his concern._

 _Kammler listened without moving. "They broke through our defense lines already. It is only a matter of time until they're here."_

 _"We also need new munitions," Hans continued to give his report and tried to ignore the pain in his heart. "But mostly we're lacking fuel to fly the planes back." Then he paused. "And we need more pilots to fly all the planes further inland."_

 _"I know," Captain Kammler simply said._

 _The fire crew had extinguished the flames. The smell of burnt fuel and human flesh invaded his nose. He could look away, but he couldn't forget the smell. Forcing himself to look, he saw a body where the pilot had sat. Another funeral, another body to bury. Hans didn't even know his name, he had stopped trying to learn them. They always died._

 _"Sergeant?"_

 _"Sir?" Hans turned around to face his superior._

 _"You won't leave me, right?" Kammler looked somewhere over Hans' left shoulder._

 _"Sir?"_

 _"You won't desert like the rest of the men?" Now Kammler looked him into the eyes. What Hans saw there frightened him - Captain Kammler, the man who organized bomb raids and surprise attacks, who invented night flights and mounted better guns on their planes, this man was scared. "They are already joking that we are an army of officers without any men because they all go back home on their own."_

 _"Why should I stay?" Hans bit his lips and relaxed. This wasn't a normal conversation anymore. He could speak freely. "We have lost. We don't have anything to defend this base with, and they are coming."_

 _"We'll get an armistice agreement. They are already on their way and then the fighting will stop."_

 _Hans looked across the airstrip. "But who? The emperor is gone."_

 _"The new government," Kammler explained._

 _With a heavy heart, Hans looked around. He had lost his friends, his youth, his hope and most of all he had lost his will to fight. His emperor was gone, everything was changing faster and faster and all his enthusiasms hadn't been worth anything. Then his gaze traveled back to Captain Kammler. He was still a young man, too young to shoulder such responsibility alone. This simple thing he could do for a brave man, maybe one day it would be called courageous. "I'll stay."_

 _Kammler pressed his lips together and nodded. Together they went back to the main barracks. "Let's keep remembering the Ardennes and Liege."_

 _Hans nodded. Remembering the battles from 1914 they had won sounded like a good idea. Maybe he could forget the dead then._

* * *

Finally, the confusion lifted and understanding dawned on Sergeant Schultz' face. He seemed to have grasped what Crittendon had wanted to tell him. He turned on his heel and made a sharp about-face and opened the door, beckoning Crittendon to follow him.

"I tell the commandant that you have to talk to him in an urgent matter."

Crittendon nodded and followed the German sergeant with a smug smile. From officer to officer, it would be a piece of cake to talk Klink into transferring Hogan. He would show the chaps that he was as suited as Hogan for the job.

* * *

 **TBC**

* * *

 _Thank you for reading! Tomorrow it's time for Rodney Crittendon. **  
**_

 _A/N 2/1/19 Fixed several typos! Thank you VStarTraveler!_


	2. Rodney Crittendon

_A/N Thank you very much for reading!  
_

* * *

 **Part 2: Crittendon**

* * *

Colonel Crittendon waited in the antechamber to the commandant's office. He stood at parade rest. Never understanding how Colonel Hogan could tolerate such undisciplined behavior from his men, he had already decided to return to the true established military norm.

He kept his eyes straight forward, even if a beautiful young lady worked in this office. But he had been waiting for a long time. Crittendon cleared his throat. "My dear," he said and glanced to the blond woman, "how long does this normally take?"

She smiled a little. "You may relax. It can take some time. If the commandant didn't want to be disturbed and yet is interrupted he can be -" she searched the right word, "- wordy."

"You speak English well, my lady," Crittendon said and glanced over again. An angel like this in a POW camp was balm for his soul. But a woman shouldn't have to serve in a war.

Forcing his eyes away again - a gentleman did not stare - he remembered the last time he had seen such an angel in such a dark place.

* * *

 _Rodney Crittendon had his eyes closed. In the darkness he still saw it - the no man's land and its gruesome design built out of mortar shells, bomb craters and bodies._

 _He saw it in more details as it had been on the photograph he had taken. His reconnaissance mission had come too late - too late to change the plan of the offensive and too late for the men that had left the trenches running against German artillery._

 _He snapped his eyes open and looked at the ceiling. Rodney figured he had total recall - no other explanation could explain it so well why he could remember every detail, every sensation, every sound and smell._

 _"Flight Lieutenant Crittendon?" the voice of an angel asked._

 _"Yes?" He turned his head. Doubting his eyes, he rubbed across them. But the image remained. "Who are you?"_

 _"I'm your nurse," the angel answered and smiled. Her voice sounded like a French melody._

 _Rodney looked around trying to figure out if he was dead. "What does an angel like you do in a war?"_

 _"I volunteered." She stepped up to his bed. "I do my duty just like you do yours. France is my home, and they won't get it."_

 _Rodney nodded, yet still doubting his own eyes. Maybe he was dreaming. "Where am I?" He couldn't remember fallen asleep or even going to bed._

 _"You are in l'hôpital, a hospital," his angel answer. "I'm Colette."_

 _Restless, he shifted in his bed. There didn't seem anything wrong with him. Yet, he couldn't remember what happened. How did he end up in a hospital?_

 _Colette put her hand on his forearm. "Calm down, lieutenant. You're safe here."_

 _"What happened?" he asked and felt like a broken record, unable to jump to the next groove. He sat up by using his elbows to lift his upper body and looked around. It really was a hospital. Everything was white and smelled like sickness, iodine and alcohol. He looked to his nurse. Even she wore white._

 _Colette opened her mouth, a dark expression clouded her friendly face, but then she seemed to think about it and closed her mouth again. Her serene and friendly smile returned. "You were hit by enemy fire," she finally explained._

 _"Jerry got me?" Rodney leaned back on his pillow. His head hurt. With his finger, he inspected the damage, but he could only feel a bandage._

 _"The doctors say, you are going to be fine."_

 _"How's James? I mean Lieutenant Moore?" He asked about his co-pilot and friend. "You know we went together to college. He is a fine officer and a good airman. Britain can be proud of him." He couldn't explain why he felt the need to tell her all this, but her calm demeanor just loosed his tongue._

 _"I'm sure and I know that I am proud of him." Again she gave him a bright smile. "You need to sleep. I am going to be here when you wake up again."_

 _Rodney smiled and hoped that his total recall would work again, so he could see her in his dreams and not the killing fields. Closing his eyes, he listened to the surrounding sound. He was almost asleep as he realized that she had never answered his question._

* * *

 _As he had awoken, Colette hadn't been there. Terrified that somebody had killed his angel, Rodney stood up on shaky legs. Nobody bothered or stopped him. Looking around, he found his clean uniform next to his bed._

 _He walked along the wall, looking in every room trying to spot his angel. What had been her name? Oh, right Colette._

 _He followed the sound of moaning and sometimes even screams. A small circle of men in white coats stood around a bed and tried to help a screaming man. The further he walked the slower he shuffled along the wall. It was as if he found in every room more poor souls. Some men seemed fine, but they were shaking so badly the whole frame of their bed was making a rattling sound. It followed him down the hallway even as he sped up. He needed to find his angel, or he would get lost in this place._

 _Rounding another corner, a new room opened up in front of him. As far as he could see, bed after bed was lined against the wall on both sides. Every single bed was occupied. Rodney pushed away from the wall and walked along the beds. He didn't want to return to the screaming._

 _Some men looked at him, others seemed to look through him. He straightened, remembering that he was an officer - he was leading these men. As he walked by the beds where the blanket fell flat just after the hip where their legs were supposed to be, he had to swallow the raising bile. But the worst were these horrible disfigured faces. Men without a nose or ears, sometimes a whole part of their face was missing._

 _The beds just didn't end. He had lost a lot of his comrades. If they crashed there wasn't anything they could do for them. Some had returned with broken bones or burns, but most had been either dead on impact or caught by the Huns. But this was beyond his comprehension. So many, so badly._

 _Finally, he was through the room and out of the hospital. Looking around, he saw the hospital was just an old villa on a small hill. At last, free from the smell of disinfectant and sickness, Rodney took a deep breath and wandered to the top of the hill._

 _A group of laughing and happy soldiers came from the nearest town, they seemed carefree and relaxed as if the horrors of the war weren't touching them. Glancing to the villa-turned-hospital Rodney hoped for them that it never changed. They went by the hospital and down the hill until he couldn't see or hear their laughter anymore._

 _Walking the few feet to the top of the hill was a struggle, but he was determined to find out where he was. As he finally arrived at top, he was shaking badly but rewarded by a great view. He took a deep breath. The sun stood in the west and the world seemed almost golden._

 _A few feet away several men had dug several graves and a priest was just conducting a funeral. It didn't seem right without a family present but at least they were buried with names and their resting place was marked with a cross._

 _The Commonwealth War Graves Commission had been a blessing, and they were already here in this part of France to keep track of everybody who died._

 _"Great here, isn't it?"_

 _Rodney jerked away from the voice._

 _"Please don't tell me that you don't know who I am. I know that your head has been hit but you should remember me," the voice snarled._

 _"James, my chap, of course I know you." Rodney smiled a little. "I just didn't hear you coming. Where have you been?"_

 _"Around here," he said serenely, his blond hair tousled from the wind. "So what's the damage?"_

 _"As far as I know I'm going to be fine." Rodney straightened with great difficulty and squared his shoulder. The way he held himself was important for the morale of the whole unit. "I have a hard head, nothing can keep me down."_

 _"I didn't mean you, I meant Betsy. Our beautiful Betsy that you crashed," James drawled. It was a familiar voice and yet it sounded off._

 _"I don't know. I haven't found out yet."_

 _"She was beautiful."_

 _"And loyal," Rodney added. "I guess we shouldn't have taken the detour? I just thought that we could really use this photograph from their machine guns."_

 _"Hey, I got the darn photo. We just crashed after we were hit - that's all." James' famous smirk enlightened his face again. "But I think it's better never to deviate from a mission plan again. From now on - it's orders only for me."_

 _Rodney's shoulders dropped slightly. It had been his mistake. "You're right, James. We shouldn't have departed from the standing order no matter how tempting or necessary the photograph had been. Orders only," he agreed solemnly._

 _"Rodney," James glanced across his shoulder to him. In the west, the sun went down. "Promise me not to get mad."_

 _"You can't make me mad," Rodney answered and waited for the joke that surely would follow._

 _"Glad to hear," he paused, "because I didn't make it."_

 _Sharply Rodney looked to his left but there wasn't anybody. He looked around but couldn't spot his friend._

 _"Lieutenant Crittendon?" He turned around. His angel had returned. Despite his confusion, he couldn't help himself and smiled. "I have been looking for you. Who were you talking to?"_

 _Shivering in the cold air, he shrugged. "James, but I guess I hurt my head more than I thought because I haven't heard him coming or leaving."_

 _Colette reached him and stepped up to him. She put her warm hand on his forearm. Rodney would never admit it but it calmed down his racing heart. "Lieutenant, your friend and co-pilot, Lieutenant James Moore, he didn't," she swallowed and as she finished her sentence her voice was thick with tears. "He didn't make it. The surgeon tried everything but his injuries were too severe."_

 _Rodney ignored his trembling lower lip and turned away. His gaze fell again to the funeral below them. "Is this -" He pointed to the fresh grave._

 _"No, he has been already buried. I'm sorry."_

 _He looked back to see her crying and only then he realized that tears were streaming down his face. He didn't feel like crying but as he wiped across his face his hand came away wet. Facing west, he watched the last sun rays. Darkness had arrived but before the daylight disappeared completely it bathed the white crosses below him into rows of glowing white. It looked like the markings of a runaway by night from his point._

 _As the sun had disappeared and the white crosses had stopped glowing, Rodney let himself be led back to the hospital. But he took the image with him and again he found that he had total recall - unable to forget white crosses lined up like a lit up runaway._

 _The next days he spent in a stupor. He visited the hill again hoping to meet James for a last time to say a proper goodbye, but his friend never showed himself again._

 _He was drifting and his only comfort was Colette, his angel. Whenever she came to check on him, it brightened his day._

 _One morning, Colette brought him papers. He had received his new orders. With trembling hands he unfolded the fine British paper. He furrowed his brows and had to blink until he could read the words Colette had brought him. "I'm transferred." He looked up in astonishment. "I'll go home. They need me there."_

 _Colette smiled at him. "That's great news, lieutenant." Her smile dimmed a little. "I hope you find your peace there."_

 _As he was discharged a few hours later, he sought out Colette thanking her. "You, my lady, you have brightened up this place."_

 _"That's my duty," she simply said. "Farewell, Lieutenant Crittendon."_

 _"Farewell, Colette."_

 _Rodney went down the road. Before he took the truck, he needed to say his final goodbye to James. Several new graves had already been excavated and members of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission walked along the lines making notes and photographs._

 _He read the names but didn't recognize any until he found James Moore. His parents would have already gotten the dreaded telegram. But it was his duty as friend and pilot to visit them in person._

 _Some graves were decorated with flowers. Rodney pulled off his cap. "James," he said and ignored the looks, "I'll promise you. If there is ever another war, I'll make sure that they plant your favorite flowers along the runway. They won't ever need graves beneath them again. I'll make sure that nobody has to die just to brighten the airstrip." He turned away but looked back once more. "Geraniums, right? That were your favorite flowers?" Without receiving an answer, Rodney nodded to himself. Geraniums would be fine._

 _As he went back, he ignored the pitiful stares and whispered words: shell shock, damaged, not right in the head. He raised his head and straightened up. He didn't have anything else but his beloved RAF, the military protocol giving him structure and purpose. Rodney Crittendon wouldn't leave his air force and he would never forget._

* * *

Crittendon forced his memories back to where they belonged. Out of the corner of his eyes, he tried to take another look, comparing Klink's secretary to his nurse Colette. But she didn't look anything like her at all. After the war he had returned to France but hadn't been able to find her. If he'd close his eyes he could remember her voice, how she had smelled and her face – the face of an angel. His plan may have been denied, but whatever they would say – he had total recall. Even after all these years, he could still see the killing fields and the way the crosses had glowed in the low sun in clear colors and full of details.

The transfer had saved him from madness and given him a new purpose back home. Now it was his turn to help a fellow soldier and take some of his load.

Returning home would help Hogan and reduce his burden like it had helped him. Surely, Colonel Klink could understand that being a veteran himself. Now it was only the small matter of writing the orders, and then Hogan would be free as a bird.

* * *

 **TBC**

* * *

 _Thank you for reading! Tomorrow the last part: Wilhelm Klink._


	3. Wilhelm Klink

_A/N Final part._ _Thanks again to Abracadebra for the challenge!_

* * *

 **Part 3: Klink**

* * *

Klink hummed his favorite melody. Since he first had heard that Colonel Crittendon had been captured near his camp and would overtake the duties of the senior officer, the anticipation of Hogan's face had brightened his day. The administrative work was easier, the sky seemed clearer and Klink could not get enough of Hogan's reaction to the news. He almost felt bad for enjoying it so much.

A knock interrupted his musings. Klink grabbed a pen, leaned forward and started to scribble. "What is it?" he called out.

The door opened and Sergeant Schultz entered the room. "Herr Kommandant," he began closing the door behind him.

"Not now, Schultz," Klink interrupted, hoping to prevent anybody from ruining his successful day. "I told you I don't want to be disturbed." But one glance at Schultz' face confirmed his misgivings about the nature of the interruption.

Schultz stood in front of his desk. "Colonel Crittendon has something important to tell you," he reported.

"Crittendon?" Klink scoffed. "He is only a few hours here. He can't know anything important yet."

"It has something to do with the last war." Schultz leaned forward and whispered his words. "He had also served then."

"I know." Klink put down his pen and leaned back. Annoyance radiated off him. "I've read his file." Throwing up his hands, first doubts crept in whether it was a good idea to lock Crittendon up here. "But the Great War is something of the past – it's history." He glared to his sergeant of the guards. "It has nothing to do with our work here. We're not fighting the last war anymore, we fight a new war."

Schultz pressed his lips together, frowning. "I'm not so sure about that." He was pale and seemed troubled. His face reminded him of Hogan and his men as they had heard the name of their new senior officer. "We all have learned a lot in the last war and I think you need to listen what he has to say," Schultz said.

"Fine, send him in."

Schultz went to the door and opened it. "Colonel Crittendon, Colonel Klink wants to see you."

Crittendon marched into the room and saluted. "Senior officer of -"

"Yes, yes. I know who you are," Klink grumbled. "What do want?"

The British officer in front of him seemed irritated, but found his voice before Klink lost his patience. "It has come to my attention that my arrival was a means to replace Colonel Hogan as ranking officer."

"You were captured around here. And yes, I knew it would anger Colonel Hogan." He stood up. "But I don't see how this has anything to do with the last war."

"Colonel Hogan has been a POW for a long time and as I overtook his quarters, he made some worrisome comments. It reminded me of the chaps who suffered from shell shock. Mind you, Hogan is not so bad off, but he is in danger."

Suddenly Hogan's shocked expression had another possible explanation. Klink put his right elbow on his left hand, supporting his chin with his right hand. Maybe it wasn't so much the news about Crittendon but something else, something deeper that had made Hogan look so sick.

"You know what happened back then, when one of our chaps was in danger to fall sick. As a personal favor, I'll ask you to do the same now for Hogan," Crittendon said. His smug smile didn't match his words but Klink had seen the facts firsthand. Hogan really had been shocked.

Turning to the window, Klink stared outside and remembered the past.

* * *

 _August 1917_

 _Wilhelm Klink carefully scanned the vast expanse of the sky. He flew the old Fokker of his squadron. The ace of his squadron had asked for a training flight and Wilhelm was chosen to play the opponent._

 _Despite the cold in the air, he was sweating and tried to spot Manfred's attacking plane. Manfred von Richter had gotten hold of one of the new Albatros and needed more training in combat flying with the plane._

 _Suddenly, he spotted a glint of silver, moving in from the north. Adrenalin flooded his body and sharpened his senses. He took a deep breath and hunched down. This was it. This was the fight he had waited for. He flew head-on, then both banked and Wilhelm tried to get on his Manfred's tail. He bit his lip and twisted his plane around. Flying against Manfred took all of his skills, but he wanted to give him the best possible training. So he tried a half loop and a slip-sideslip but Manfred was an ace and parried all his attempts._

 _They passed each other faster and faster until Klink lost sight of Manfred for a moment. Looking around, he couldn't spot him._

 _Suddenly, Manfred's Albatros came on again from the left, almost upside down now. It was a terrifying sight as Klink looked into the grim machine gun. He jerked his machine to the right to prevent the almost inevitable collision. The airplane responded and he had nearly completed his maneuver as the tip of his wing caught Manfred's plane sending it spiraling down._

 _Klink's Fokker stuttered and tilted. Trying to retake control Wilhelm used all of his skills to stabilize the airplane again. But he regained control too late. He was too near to the ground to pull it back up again. With a loud bang, he hit the ground, skidding across a field and finally flipping over._

 _As the dust had cleared, Wilhelm stood shaking next to the remains of his plane. Somehow he had the feeling that the image of the destroyed plane mirrored his life. He had crashed and survived but his career was irredeemably damaged._

* * *

 _Slipping out of the hospital, Wilhelm tried to leave the area before somebody saw him. Manfred hadn't been as lucky and hurt his leg in the crash landing. So it had been his duty to visit him. But Manfred hadn't thanked him for saving his life by preventing the collision. Instead, he had ranted for hours that all of it was his fault and if he hadn't turned nothing would have happened. Wilhelm wasn't looking forward to returning to base. By now everybody would know and if the Blue Baron said something, it was viewed as a fact._

 _"Wilhelm?" A familiar voice called out._

 _He jerked and clenched his teeth. Slowly he turned around to face whoever had recognized him. But as he found the source of the voice, he relaxed again. "Jacob Gold," Wilhelm said in greeting and raised a hand. Another classmate from flight school was resting on one of the benches in the garden around the hospital._

 _Wilhelm strolled over. "How are you?" Then he saw the bandages and frowned. "What happened?"_

 _Jacob leaned back. He seemed tired, with a fine sheet of sweat on his forehead and shivering in the heat. "I'm enjoying the hot sun in August," he claimed smirking. "As for the rest, let's say I had a meeting with the French ace Georges Guynemer. He is as good as everybody postulates. But I managed to get down on our side and therefore survived."_

 _The wind breezed through the garden carrying the soft smell of summer with it._

 _"So I heard you collided with von Richter?"_

 _"I'm sure everybody has heard by now." Wilhelm sat down beside his classmate. "Nobody is going to take me serious ever again."_

 _"You worry too much about yourself," Jacob admonished. "In a few hours new reports come in and you'll be yesterdays news."_

 _"If you say so." He glanced to his friend. "Will you be able to fly again?"_

 _"Nothing can keep us down." Jacob nudged him into the shoulder. "We are pilots – born to fly. You can't keep us down, right?"_

 _Wilhelm nodded. Jacob was a renowned dog fighter and a true hero – everything Wilhelm had set out to achieve as he had asked his father to fund him the pilot license. But he had remained a simple pilot._

 _"What happened out there yesterday?" Jacob asked and seemed really interested._

 _"I saved Manfred's life and yet he still blames me for his damaged knee. He came out of nowhere and almost hit me. If I hadn't -" He broke off. In his mind he could still see their moving, feel the cold inside and outside and hear the moment the planes had touched._

 _"Manfred is arrogant but he is a great pilot. I've flown with him. If he says that you almost took him down, he knows what he is saying." He leaned nearer. "So, did you panic?"_

 _"No," Wilhelm denied angrily._

 _"Then what happened?"_

 _"I didn't see him. He came from the left and suddenly he was there. I didn't see him until it was almost too late." He shook his head. In his heart, he already knew what this meant._

 _"Wilhelm, you need to have your eyes checked out – or maybe just your left. If you can't see, you can't fly."_

 _"I know." He looked down. Without perfect sight, he would be grounded and would be riding a desk for the rest of the war. He didn't want to think about it. "How's your girl? Rosa, right?"_

 _A bright smile flashed across Jacob's face but then it dampened. "Rosa works now in a munition factory, can you imagine? Women across Europe are suddenly flooding the factories."_

 _"Soon the war is over. You'll see. We are going to win," Wilhelm assured his friend. Knowing the situation, he didn't know how the Supreme Command wanted to achieve this, but he was just a pilot and trusted them. "We can't lose," he continued, breaking the telling silence of his friend. "We have already invested too much to lose now."_

 _Jacob shrugged. "In a few days I'm back out there to do my part in winning – everything else …" He left the sentence unfinished._

 _He watched him. "Are you sure you are going to be healed enough in just a few days?"_

 _"Wilhelm, I know what I can or cannot do and I don't think you want to move up."_

 _He shuddered. "But I am a good pilot. It's just all the shooting and killing," Wilhelm trailed off.  
_

 _"If you had had the chance you would have forgone a military career and played your violin all day long, wouldn't you?"_

 _A small smile tugged at Wilhelm's face. Then it disappeared. "We all have to do our duty and for mindless playing an instrument, there is no place if your people are in a time of need."_

 _"You sound like your father," Jacob accused him._

 _Before Wilhelm could defend himself, a loud commotion interrupted the peaceful atmosphere._

 _"No!"_

 _The loud denial came from one of the open windows on the third floor._

 _"I'm not going back," the same voice repeated even more hotly. A blond head appeared at the window. "I can't."_

 _Jacob glanced upward. Resigned, he sighed. "That's Heinrich. He has even shot himself in the foot to get out of the trenches. The poor soul was hit by gas and was sent back on the front lines after he had recovered. He barely made the days but then he was supposed to fill in for fallen comrades, so he shot himself to get out of there."_

 _Wilhelm nodded. He had heard about the soldiers who hurt themselves to get out of the front rotation._

 _"We should assume a faster rotation like the Allies. We keep our guys far too long in the first line. And then they snap like this," Jacob said and snapped his fingers to show how fast it could happen._

 _Wilhelm looked up to the sad scene again._

 _"Heinrich, seriously. Don't be such a coward. You're a real soldier – that means you'll do your duty," another man appeared at the window. "Do you see anybody else making such a fuss about it? In and out."_

 _"I can't. Not anymore!" He sounded desperate. Suddenly the blond soldier turned, jumped up the window ledge and stepped out into the emptiness._

 _"Heinrich!" His comrade lunged at him but missed him by a few inches. "Heinrich!"_

 _Wilhelm watched the scene, opening his mouth but before he could shout a warning, the body hit the ground with a sickening bang._

 _Taking a shuddering breath, Wilhelm couldn't believe his eyes. The prospect of returning to the front had driven a soldier to commit suicide. He glanced to Jacob to verify that he had seen the same thing. Jacob had his lips pressed together and looked even paler than before._

 _Medical staff swarmed the man but the busy movement soon died down. Blood was splattered on the ground and the body was bent and distorted unnaturally. He was dead.  
_

 _Wilhelm glanced back to the window on the third floor. The friend was looking down. Shock and pain etched deeply on his face._

 _"Everybody has a breaking point," Jacob murmured. "And then -" he broke off. But Wilhelm could see the result of a man pushed too far splattered on the ground in front of him._

* * *

Klink's eyes snapped open and whirled around. "Schultz! Get Colonel Hogan and take him to the cooler, right away." He made a fist. "Nobody is going to commit suicide on my watch!"

Schultz snapped to attention. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." Then he hesitated as he realized what the order entitled. "The cooler, sir?"

"Yes, and make sure that he doesn't take anything with him." Klink circled around his desk. He could only hope that he hadn't pushed Hogan too far.

"Jawohl," Schultz repeated and then leaned forward a little. "But what do I tell him? He's going to ask why."

"You don't have to tell him anything, just know that he will be thankful for it one day." Klink balled his fists.

"Colonel Klink," Crittendon now also raised his hand and objected, "I didn't imply that -"

"Thank you, Colonel Crittendon, for acting fast and bringing this to my attention. Dismissed." Klink saluted and Crittendon snapped to attention like the good airman he was.

Klink sunk down in his chair. Shaking his head, he couldn't believe it. He had just wanted some revenge for all the trouble Hogan always brought to him and now he had almost driven him into committing suicide. He didn't even want to imagine what could have happened if Crittendon hadn't said anything.

His good mood had vaporized, leaving him feeling old. Klink picked up his pen again. Glancing to his window, he was glad that this time he had the means to prevent an act of desperation.

"You'll thank me Hogan," he whispered in the silence of his office. "One day you'll thank me."

* * *

As Crittendon left the office, he scratched his face. He couldn't remember that he had asked for the cooler. He had only wanted a transfer. From the front porch he could see, Sergeant Schultz marching Colonel Hogan to the cooler while Hogan's men - now his men - watched from the sidelines, protesting loudly.

Hogan said something and the Frenchman nodded. With five men staring at him with matching furious expressions, Crittendon realized that he needed to work real hard to earn the trust of these men. He should start with a clean overtake of command and help Hogan with whatever he wanted.

As he looked westward, he saw the sun going down and he remembered the white crosses. Again the life of men were entrusted in his hands, he would not fail. Taking a deep breath, he raised his chin and marched toward them, intending to make amends for his past mistakes.

He couldn't change his past, but maybe use its lesson to do better now.

Walking to his men, Crittendon faltered slightly – this was a good idea, but it would be easier to be done if just Hogan's plans and the world would be easier to understand.

* * *

 **END**

* * *

 _Thank you for reading!_


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